


Stay With Me

by accurst_writer



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-11
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26410882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/accurst_writer/pseuds/accurst_writer
Summary: All her life, Clove only asked one thing of Cato.
Relationships: Cato/Clove (Hunger Games)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Stay With Me

I was 8, and it was my first day at the Academy. A slightly older boy had been told to show me around. He was taller than me, and his blonde hair went in every direction at once. “I’m Cato.”  
“Clove.”  
“Well, Clove, I guess I’m supposed to show you around.”  
I nod, and he starts sprinting off, yelling at me to “keep up” and that he “doesn’t have all day”  
I run after him at top speed, and call to him “Hey, stay with me. I don’t want to get lost.”

I was 10, and I had hit a (metaphorical) wall in training. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t master throwing left-handed. Eventually, I gave up and stormed off in a huff. Cato, my training partner, found me sitting, curled up at the base of a tree.  
“What’s wrong?”  
“I can’t do it. I missed the target. I’m a terrible knife-thrower, and I may as well drop out now, because I’ll never get to volunteer.” I didn’t look at him. I didn’t want to see the disappointment on his face.  
“It’s okay. You’ll get there. You can’t drop out, Clove. I’d miss you. Please?” When I looked up, he was staring directly at me. Slowly, I nodded.  
He put his arm around my shoulders. “You have to stick to our plan. I’ll go for the 74th, you go for 75th or 76th, and we can be Victors together.”  
“Only if you’ll stay with me.”

I’m 12 years old. My hair is tied into a bun. I’m wearing a dress. I have no knives. It is the day of the Reaping.   
I meet Cato in the street. He’s wearing a button-down shirt tucked into smart trousers and his hair is slicked back.   
“Very handsome.”  
“Very beautiful.”  
We don’t talk as we walk to the square. He’s 13, he’s done this before. I haven’t.   
My nerves showed, in the way I was gripping his hand a little too tightly, the way I kept glancing to him for reassurance.  
“Don’t worry, Clove. We won’t be picked. And even if we are, you know there’s thousands of people in the Academy that would kill, literally, to get into the Arena this year. I’m not going for 3 more years, and you have even longer. We don’t have to worry.”  
I know he’s right. I watched the tryouts amongst the older trainees. I know who’s supposed to be volunteering this year, and I’m sure they will. But I still can’t shake the fear that’s settled into my heart.   
“Cato? Stay with me as long as you can.”

I’m 14, and barely awake. I screwed up and took a mace to the leg while sparring. I think I’m in my dormitory, but I’m woozy from the painkillers I was given so they could fix my kneecap. Apparently it shattered. Either way, it’s in a cast now.   
I’m vaguely aware of a blanket being pulled over me, and my hair being smoothed. I shake my head a little, try and force myself to focus, and realise that Cato is the other person in the room with me.   
“Hey” I whisper.  
He smiles back. “Hey. You feeling okay? You took a pretty hard hit earlier”  
I nod. “Did they say how long it would be before I could get back to training?”  
Cato shakes his head. “I’ll go ask.” He starts to walk towards the door.I don’t want to be alone when I feel so bad from the painkillers.“Wait, Cato. Stay with me. Please.”

I’m 15, and again, I’m barely conscious. I know I won’t pull through this time, though. My head feels wrong, and it hurts. I think I screamed his name, but even if I didn’t, he’s here, he’s with me.   
Uncharacteristic tears are threatening to spill from his eyes, as he rocks back and forth holding my body close. “Please don’t go, please. We were supposed to win. Together. Be Victors. You can’t die on me, Clove. You can’t!”  
I look at him and try to move my arm, to touch his face, tell him I love him. I’m trying as hard as I can, but it just isn’t enough. My body isn’t moving. I focus just on moving my mouth, on mouthing one single word.   
“Cato.”  
I know I can’t do any more. His name will be my last word.   
I’m aware, but my body is not. I’m finding it harder to focus, but I want his face to be the last thing I see. Just as the tears finally spill over his eyelashes, he says it. Between gasping, desperate sobs, he asks me the one thing I always asked of him.

“Clove, stay with me.”


End file.
